


A Piece of Home

by owlish_peacock



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, F/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlish_peacock/pseuds/owlish_peacock
Summary: "She knew herself well enough to know that her current situation shouldn’t have surprised her: flat tire, middle of nowhere, snow storm, Christmas Eve. It was a goulash of bad luck ingredients just simmering into a unfortunate evening. And, as unfortunes go, she was woefully unprepared. No spare. No tools. No hope.Damn."Celebrate different holidays with Jamie and Claire, beginning with the Christmas the met!





	1. Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!!

Claire had a theory: whatever deity presided over this world was out to get her. Plain and simple. Bad luck followed her, like an unnerving shadow. Perhaps she had walked under too many ladders in a past life. Perhaps it was a genetic disposition, like left handed-ness. Perhaps she was cursed.

Despite the reason, she knew herself well enough to know that her current situation shouldn’t have surprised her: flat tire, middle of nowhere, snow storm, Christmas Eve. It was a goulash of bad luck ingredients just simmering into a unfortunate evening. And, as unfortunes go, she was woefully unprepared. No spare. No tools. No hope.

_ Damn. _

She was going to freeze to death in her car. Or, at least lose her fingers to frostbite. Whichever came first.

Her panic subsided as she remembered the invention of mobile phones.

_ Thank God.  _

Claire thrust her hand into the depths of the oversized pockets on her wool coat, fishing out said device. The metal was cool against her hand. Pressing the home button, her heart plummeted.

The phrase  _ no service  _ blinked up at her.

_ Shit. _

She really was screwed.

***

Deep within her rational mind, Claire knew that there was a slim chance of her being stranded for long in her situation. The road she was on was less traveled, but not totally abandoned. It just seemed so for the lack of cars—owing to it being late Christmas Eve night—and the muffling snow.

Despite such knowledge, she could help the panic from settling into her throat. She began crawling about her car, raising her phone at awkward angles. But the  _ no service  _ did not disappear. Settling back into the driver’s seat, she began fiddling with the radio as a distraction.

_ “...I’m dreaming of a whi..” _

_ “...On a one horse…” _

_ “...Jack Frost nipping at your nose…” _

“Excuse me!” 

A knock at her window startled her, causing her heart to spasm within her chest.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

The man hovering beside her window was tall, handsome, and vaguely familiar. Claire rolled it down to get a better look.

“Hello?”

“It seems ye may need some help.”

Claire’s gazes roved over his face, from his auburn curls to his deep slanted eyes to his wide, good natured mouth.

“I know you…?”

A chuckle. “Aye. Yer Claire.”

“And you’re… from Professor Bailey’s class, right? The Literature Seminar.” A pause, as she searched her brain for the man’s name. “It’s James, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he repeated. “But ye can call me Jamie.”

“Well, Jamie. I am in a bit of a sticky situation. You don’t happen to have a spare tire, do you?”

“Nay, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck!” Remembering her company, Claire clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

But Jamie just laughed, his smile crinkling his eyes. “Nay worry. This is a bit of a  _ fuck _ situation.”

“You got that right…”

“Here, let me help ye. My parent’s house isna verra far. That’s where I’m heading. Ye can call someone when ye get there.”

“That’s kind of you, Jamie, but—“

“Please. I dinna feel right leaving ye out in the cold.”

Claire sighed. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

***

The ride was almost silent. Although Jamie and Claire were acquainted through school, their knowledge of each other was limited. What they knew, they learned from others: Claire knew Jamie had a large family, played rugby as a teenager, and had a sensitive heart towards babies and animals. Jamie knew Claire wrote for the university newspaper, owned a cat, and loved the rain.

Everything else was in the realm of unknown. Claire broke the silence first.

“I don’t wish to ruin your Christmas Eve with your family.”

“Nonsense. Ye willna ruin Christmas. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think your parents would be too pleased that you’re bringing a strange woman you rescued from the road to their house.”

“Honestly, I think they’ll just be happy I’m bringing a woman,” he teased. Claire stiffened. Would his parents think they were a couple? “Besides, yer no a strange woman. I ken ye, ye ken me. I was just at the right place at the right time.”

“If you’re sure…”

Jamie reached over, and patted her hand gently. It was a quick gesture—one of reassurance—but Claire couldn’t help the way her heart skipped a beat. He really was incredibly good-looking. His profile was strong, with an angular nose and a steel jaw. His deep red curls softened his severe features, lending him a more boyish charm. Claire could, quite honestly, stare at him all day.

“Aye, I’m sure.”

***

The house rose through the trees, the lights through the windows casting a dim glow on the surrounding land. It was large, retangular, and obviously old. Houses nowadays weren’t made like that, with faded gray stones and overgrown vines. With the strands of Christmas bulbs that outlined the roof and windows and the snow that covered the grass, it looked very much like a fairy tale.

“Wow.” Claire hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but the word exited her mouth in a breath.

“Aye, I ken. It’s quite a sight.”

“How old is it?”

“About 300 years, I think. It’s been in my family for so long. Lallybroch, we call it.”

“What does that mean?”

“Lazy tower. There’s a tower to the east, there.” His hands pointed into the darkness. “Ye canna quite see it now. It’s too dark.”

“How is it lazy?”

“It leans,” Jamie explained simply. “It’s been here as long as the house.”

“That’s amazing…” The history lover within her had some many questions, but she quelled them; she wasn’t planning on being here long enough to have them answered.

“Well, come on, then. Let’s get ye inside.”

***

If the outside of Lallybroch was exquisite, the inside was magical.  Garland and poinsettias hung in the archways, as ceramic Christmas trees lined the tables. Jamie led her through the archway on the right.

“Mam? Da?”

The room was large and open, with a shiny cherry hardwood floor and a fireplace crackling. The pièce de résistance, though, was the eight foot Christmas tree in the center of the room. Lights shone from every crevice and branch, and tinsel swirled toward the top where a bright star rested. Claire had never had large Christmases, had never had much of a family to share it with. But here, she could see the appeal.

So distracted she was by the incredible decorations, she missed the figures huddled around the fire. Jamie’s family, she presumed.

“Jamie? Is that you?” A woman’s voice rang out.

“Aye, Mam.”

The woman stood from her place by the fire to greet them. As she came closer, Claire could see exactly where Jamie got his looks. Same hair, same pointed nose, same dimpled chin. She started when she realized Jamie wasn’t alone.

“And who might this be?”

“Oh, this is Claire. We go to university together. I found her on the road with a flat. Claire, this is my mam, Ellen.”

Claire gripped the woman’s smooth hand in her own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a beautiful home.”

“Oh, thank ye verra much!”

“Where’s Jenny?”

“Oh, she’s putting the bairns to bed. They couldna wait. Ready for Santa, and all that. Come, Claire. Ye should meet Jamie’s da.”

“Mam, Claire isna planning on staying long…”

“It’ll just be moment, aye? Come, dear.”

Claire obliged, following Ellen Fraser toward the fire where a larger figure sat. He was broad and black-haired, cropped close to his head. Jamie definitely looked like his mother, but he had his father’s eyes: slanted and cerulean.

“Brian, this is Claire. Claire, my husband Brian.” Brian Fraser’s face softened, a half smile lighting his face.

“Pleasure to meet ye, Claire. What can we do for ye?”

“She’s a classmate of Jamie’s, dear. He met her on the road with a flat tire.”

“Oh, no. Yer more than welcome to use our phone to call a ride if ye need. It’s just across the hall.”

“Thank you, sir.”

She on her heel, and left the room.

***

“She’s pretty, Jamie,” Ellen whispered conspiratorially.

“Mam…”

“And polite, too,” Brian interjected.

“Ye too, Da?”

“Aye, someone needs to push ye a bit.”

“Push me?”

“Mmhmmm. Is she no the Claire ye had a  _ crush _ on last semester?”

“I...I…”

“Though so.” Brian went back to nursing his tumbler of whisky, having proven his point.

“Perhaps it is yer lucky night,  _ mo mhac.  _ A Christmas miracle of sorts.”

“Yer exaggerating, Mam. It isna like that.”

“No? But it could be.”

***

Closed. Every single tow company Claire called was closed. Of course she had to have a flat on Christmas Eve. How was she supposed to get home, now? Was Uber open?

“Any luck?” The voice startled her, her hand flying up to her chest to keep her heart in place.

“Jamie! You’ve got to stop surprising me!”

“Sorry.”

She giggled at his contrite expression. “It’s okay. And to answer your question, no. No luck at all. All the towing companies are closed.”

“Yeah. It  _ is  _ Christmas Eve. Do ye have family to call to pick ye up?”

“No. I don’t.” She could feel her face fall at the mention of family.

Apparently, Jamie saw it, too. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

A silence, awkward and deafening, filled the room. And then, suddenly: “We’ll have to share a family then.”

“Pardon?”

“No one should be alone on Christmas. Not even filthy-mouthed Sassenach such as yerself.” Jamie’s grin grew broader at his own teasing.

“No, no. I’m not going to impose…”

“Ye won’t be! My mam loves ye already!”

“She just met me!”

“Well, she’s a good judge of character.”

“ _ You _ don’t even know me that well.”

“We can get to know each other, become friends. Anything is possible at Christmas.”

“I don’t know, Jamie.”

Claire could see the wheels turning in Jamie’s mind, his eyes alight with ideas. Finally, he stuck his hand out. “James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser. 6’4. Twenty-one years old. Taurus.”

His smile was infectious, and Claire could feel her lips rising in response. She grasped his hand. “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. 5’6. Twenty-three years old. Libra.”

“Nice to meet ye, Claire.”

“You too, Jamie.”

The two walked out of the room, their hands still inexplicably twined. So intent on the other, they almost tripped over a small huddled form in the hallway.

“Wee Jamie! Are ye no supposed to be in bed?”

The little form uncurled revealing a small boy in Christmas pajamas. He looked up at the two with innocent brown eyes.

“Aye, Uncle Jamie. But I couldna sleep!”

“Too excited, hmm?”

“Aye! Santa!”

“Well, he won’t come until yer asleep.”

“I ken… Who is this?”

“Oh, this is my friend, Claire. Claire, this is my eldest nephew, Jamie Murray.”

Claire crouched to Wee Jamie’s eye level. “Nice to meet you. I like your PJs.”

The boy blushed sweetly. “Thank ye.” And, then, distractedly: “What’s that?” A small, chubby hand pointed to the ceiling above where Jamie and Claire stood. A small sprig was hung there by a red ribbon.

Mistletoe.

“It’s mistletoe, wee’un. If ye stand under with someone, ye have to kiss them…”

“Eww!” And with that, Wee Jamie ran away with the threat of kissing.

Claire turned to Jamie, cheeks pinkening. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t break tradition…”

His eyes narrowed with desire. “Nay. That’s bad luck, I think.”

It was hesitant, slow. Achingly slow. Jamie placed a large hand on Claire’s cheek, holding her firmly in place. Claire’s arms wrapped around his middle, feeling the flannel of his shirt.

Lips brushed, quickly. A soft kiss. A chaste kiss that promised more. 

Perhaps this Christmas wasn’t so unlucky after all.


	2. New Year's Eve Part 1

She should have gone shopping. Every item of clothing in Claire’s closet whispered in muted tones and various grays. Nothing seemed to scream New Year’s Eve.

Not for the first time in her life she found herself woefully unprepared as a result of her scattered brain. Her Uncle Lamb used to call her  _ dappy _ ; she wasn’t sure which was worse.

Luckily for her, help was always a phone call away.

“Geillis!” Claire exclaimed as soon as the other woman answered her phone.

“Weel,  _ hello _ to ye, too.”

Geillis Duncan was Claire’s very first friend when she moved to Scotland, and the very first person she called after her stranded incident with the Frasers.

“I need help.”

“Claire Beauchamp asking for help? It is the end of days?”

Claire could hear her friend smiling through the receiver. “C’mon, Geillis…”

“Alright, alright. What do ye need?”

“Advice. I don’t know what to wear to this New Year’s Eve party.”

 

A day after she left the Fraser’s home in a tow truck, Claire had received a text message from an unknown number.

_ J: Hey, Claire. It’s Jamie. I’ve got a question for you. _

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face as she read his name.

_ C: Okay. Shoot. _

_ J: What are your New Year plans? _

In truth--with Geillis on holiday with her family in Paris--she didn’t have any, other than watching movies with her cat, Adso.

_ C: Why? _

_ J: Well, my friend is having a party at his house. And, on the off chance you didn’t already have plans, I thought you may want to go. _

Her heart pounded out an uneven rhythm. A New Year’s party? With Jamie? An undoubtedly attractive idea that was. Dancing, drinking, laughing with her new red-haired friend…

More than friend? No, the mistletoe kiss was a one-off thing. A following of a tradition. Nothing more.

Her thumbs hammered out the answer on her phone, and—before she could lose her nerve—hit send.

_ C: I would love to. _

 

“Weel, ye canna wear any of yer clothes. They dinna work for a party like that.”

Claire glanced at her closet again. “I’m beginning to realize that…”

“Maybe ye should head to the shops before they close… OH!” A squeal pierced Claire’s eardrums. “I may have something!”

“You’re smaller than me, Geillis. Whatever it is probably won’t fit.”

“Weel, it’s a bit loose on me, so it might work.”

Running out of options, Claire really didn’t have a choice. “Fine. I’ll take a picture when I get there.”

“Lovely! Ta ta!”

Rummaging through her key drawer, she found the spare to Geillis’ flat—they had exchanged house keys in case of emergencies. Claire supposed this counted as one. She just hoped Geillis’ dress would work.

Fingers crossed.

***

There was absolutely no way. The dress hung on the hanger, mocking her. It was absurd to think that she could squeeze her fat arse into it. She told Geillis just as much.

_ C: Geillis… No way. _

_ G: Yes way. Did you try it on? _

_ C: I’ll rip it. _

_ G: No you won’t. It’s stretchier than it you think. Just humour me. _

“Ughhh!”

Throwing her phone on Geillis’ bed, Claire began to strip down to her underwear. She stared down the dress as if it were her enemy. Well, it kind of was.

She couldn’t deny how lovely said dress was. Deep purple and velvet, it seemed too luxurious for Claire to try to slip into. 

“Here goes nothing.”

Shaking her hips and shimmying her torso, she was able to pull the dress on. Geillis was right. It was much stretchier than she previously thought.

She turned around to face the mirror, surprised at what she saw. Not only did the dress fit, it actually looked… good. It was strapless, allowing for her shoulders and neck to be on full display. A small V was indented in the neckline right where her cleavage showed. The dress hugged her body, right down to where it stopped at her knees. Most importantly, her arse looked fantastic.

Geillis was right. She’d never hear the end of it.

_ C: Okay, here it is. *File Attachment* _

_ G: YES YES YES. IF YOU DON’T WEAR THAT, I’M GOING YOU SLAP YOU WHEN I RETURN. _

Well, that was settled, then.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! This is a little late...

9:45 pm

She had 15 minutes--15 more minutes until Jamie Fraser himself was to show up at her door.

Shit.

It was strange; Claire wasn’t one that worried  overmuch about her appearance. She knew, strictly speaking, that she was fairly attractive, despite the ever expanding width of her hips. But there she was, zhooshing her hair and plucking at her dress in the mirror. She had just enough time for a couple last minute preparations: one more swipe of mascara to top off her smokey eye makeup, a thin layer of neutral pink lipstick, small earrings for a little sparkle. There. It was as good as it was ever going to be.

But it definitely wasn’t bad at all.

A knock at her door almost caused her heart to jump out of her chest.

_ Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Damn his punctuality. _

Slipping on her black ankle boots (heeled for a little height boost) and throwing on a leather jacket (for extra warmth), she went to answer the door.

***

He was nervous. That was a damn understatement. Jamie could practically feel the sweat dripping down his spine. Gross. That wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to make on Claire.

It was time, though. Breathing deeply, he raised a tentative fist to her door.

“Coming!” Claire’s muffled voice replied through the wood.

Ten seconds passed before she answered the door. It took all the effort Jamie could muster to stop his jaw from dropping.

Suddenly, he felt entirely underdressed in his simple olive oxford and dark denim.

She was stunning. Of course, Jamie always thought she was stunning, even as a disheveled college student at 8am classes. But that was understated; she liked to blend in.

There was no blending in this evening.

Her dress, the deep color of fine wine, clung to every curve and dip of her body. He wished to spin her around so he could see  _ every _ curve.

_ Don’t be a dog. Her arse isn’t yours to fondle. _

Her hair was as wild as ever—a dark storm cloud around her impeccably made up face.

Jamie realized then that he was staring. “Claire, ye look incredible.”

A pretty blush colored her cheeks. “Thanks. So do you.” Her small finger flicked his shirt collar. “That green looks great with your hair.”

He felt his cheeks pinken. 

_ Damn it. _

“Thank ye. Shall we?”

“We shall.”

***

Blurs of forest and evening skies flew past Jamie’s car window. He had been driving for 20 minutes; Claire wondered how much longer he would continue.

“Where does your friend live?”

“No much farther.”

The houses became sparser as they grew in size.

“This seems like a...uh...wealthy neighborhood.”

“Oh, aye. It definitely is. John’s an entrepreneur. His partner, Hector, is a doctor. They can more than afford to live here.”

“Oooh, I didn’t know you had such rich connections.”

“Mmhmm. It’s good to have friends in high places,” he chuckled. “Nay, John’s a good friend, though. We’ve known each other since we were lads.”

“Well, I will be happy to meet him, then.”

***

Whatever Claire was expecting, it wasn’t what stood before her.

Mansion. That was the word that immediately came to mind. Jamie’s friends lived in a mansion. The outside was completely constructed of stone--light in color and old-worldly. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up most of the facade, allowing for inner lights to spill onto the grass outside. Two small towers took residence on the front corners.

_ Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ… Did this used to be a castle? _

An array of automobiles sat in the horseshoe driveway, with people milling about in between. Suddenly, Claire felt very nervous.

_ How many people are here? _

“Are ye coming, Sassenach?” Jamie had already exited the car, waiting for his date.

_ No _ . “Just a second.”

Taking a deep breath and brushing off her dress, she went to join him.

“There ye are.” A grin spread across his face, pulling at the small dimple in his chin. Claire had the sudden urge to kiss that tiny indention. The urge was forgotten, though, when Jamie’s large hand slipped into her own, intertwining their fingers. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering. “Let’s go in, then.”

***

If the outside of the house was magnificent, the inside was resplendent--decorated in warm tones that set the entire home aglow. The golden lights lit Jamie’s hair as he walked beside Claire, a homing flame.

Beautifully dressed guests littered the floor, drinks in hand and smiles turned on. Claire could hear the faint, thumping beat of bass heavy music.

“John’s probably upstairs. That’s where the dancing is.”

“What, is there a dance floor upstairs?” Jamie’s lack of answer spoke loud enough. “Jesus. Does he have his own bowling alley in this house, as well?”

“Nay, but there is a hot tub in the back.” With an attempted wink (both eyes closed in an owlish blink), he grabbed her arm and led her to the center of the house where the staircase stood. It was wooden, reclaimed and stained dark. The steps curved upward in a confusing spiral shape.

“That must be hell if you’re drunk…” She mused.

“Aye. Tis.” Another owlish blink, and they began their ascent. Thankfully, the staircase was wide, allowing for them to walk side-by-side.

“You’re speaking from experience?”

“I dinna ken what yer talking about…”

“Jamie, answer the question: Have you, or have you not fallen down these stairs?”

“I dinna think--”

“It’s a yes or no question, James.”

“Yes! Alright? Twice!”

“What? You didn’t learn the first time?!”

The two fell into a fit of giggles as they entered the second floor landing. The music became increasingly louder as the lights dimmed.

“Excuse me,” a voice came from the shadows. “I hear fun!”

The voice appeared as a man, well-dressed and handsome, with slick blond hair and a drink in his hand.

“John!”

“Hullo, Jamie!” 

They embraced as only men do, complete with pats on the back. Claire stood off to the side, not wanting to get in the middle of their friendship.

When they broke apart, Jamie spoke: “John, this is Claire.”

“Claire, huh?” Pale brows waggled suggestively. Claire wondered how drunk this man was. He stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Well, Claire. I’m John. Jamie’s best mate. Welcome to my home.”

Claire grasped his hand in her own. “It’s a pleasure, John. And your home is wonderful.”

“Thank you very much. We like it well enough. I’m not sure where Hector ran off to, though…”

“Maybe I’ll find him on my way to get a drink,” Jamie interjected. “Do ye want anything, Claire?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“John, ye need a refill?”

“No, no. I’m fine. Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Jamie descended the stairs again, and John looped his arm through Claire’s.

“Come on, dear. Let’s dance.”

“Oh, I’m not a dancer…”

“Neither am I, but it is fun.”

Claire couldn’t resist the pull of the music, John’s infectious smile, or his arm grabbing hers. He led her to the room on the right where the music manifested. Opening the door, Claire was greeted by a plethora of bodies, writhing about in the multi-colored disco lights. The sound bursting through the speakers was unfamiliar, yet tantalizing; she couldn’t stop the slight sway of her hips.

“You’ve got it, love.” John wrapped an arm around her waist familiarly. Not usually one for unwarranted touches, Claire found a comfortability with her new friend; she didn’t mind his touches. “But, it’s more fun in the middle.”

The two weaved through the humidity of people, ducking beneath flying arms and dodging the pulse of bodies. They stopped at a clear space near the center of the room.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Releasing her, John began to move his hips in time with the music. He said he couldn’t dance; he was a liar. “Come on, Claire!”

She tried, shaking her body awkwardly. She knew she had a good sense of rhythm, but her limbs swung stiffly making her look very much like a puppet.

“Loosen up!” Easy for him to say—he was at least four drinks deep. Gripping her hands again, he shook her arms vigorously. “Loosen.” Shake. “Up.” Shake.

“I’m trying!”

But he did not let go. Instead, he began to lead their dance, showing her the ropes. She felt much more comfortable with his guidance.

“Am I missing all the fun?” A low burr murmured in her ear.  Claire whirled around to find Jamie grinning, two drinks in hand. One was handed to her

“Jamie! Thanks! John was just trying to teach me to dance.” 

“And how is that going?”

“Awful.”

“It is not!” John interjected. “You’re not as horrible a dancer as you think. Besides, we were having a good time. That’s what’s important!”

“Weel… Ye won’t mind if I cut in, then, will ye?”

“Not at all. I need to find Hector anyway. I’ll see you two around, alright?” 

They waved goodbye as John ducked through the crowd.

“He’s a good one.”

“Aye. I like him weel enough. Now. It is my turn to dance with ye.”

“Oh, Jamie, I don’t—“

He wasn’t accepting excuses. Grasping her free hand like John had, he began to move—a frantic shaking of the hips and hopping that jostled his curls. His happiness was contagious, and Claire found herself mirroring his moves.

“Woohoo!”

And so they drank and danced. Claire could feel her hair growing from the heat and sweat. So much for the careful styling that took her an hour...

As if reading her mind, Jamie leaned in and whispered in her ear: “Ye look so beautiful, Claire.”

He had said it earlier, but the way his breath caressed her skin as he spoke so earnestly made her shiver. “Thank you.”

They began swaying closer, then—his fingertips gently dipped into her hips as her hands twisted into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m glad ye came here with me.”

“Me too.”

The two continues to dance, the fronts of their bodies melding together and their hips rolling in time with the heavy beat. Claire could feel every inch of him against her. Overcome with arousal, she pressed her forehead against his.

“Jamie, I—“

“IT’S COUNTDOWN TIME, EVERYONE!” John’s voice boomed over the speakers. Jamie and Claire started at the interruption, but did not break apart.

“10! 9!”

Claire’s fingers wound deeply into Jamie’s hair, scratching his scalp. He moaned gently at the sensation.

“8! 7!”

Jamie pulled her tighter, flush against his own body.

“6! 5!”

His hands spanned her entire back, holding her close.

“4! 3!”

She licked her lips. 

“2! 1!”

Lips pressed together.

“Happy New Year!”

It was an explosion of feeling, much more passionate and wild than the kiss they shared at Christmas. Mouths opened, and their breath mingled. Jamie’s tongue probed hesitantly, and Claire welcomed him enthusiastically. A small moan vibrated through her body, shaking them both.

And as other couples began to pull apart, Jamie and Claire remained stuck together, enjoying the feeling of the other’s lips.

 


End file.
